Mendele: Yiddish literature and language ______________________________________________________ Contents of Vol. 08.029 July 20, 1998 Mendele's Kindergartn Part I. 1) Moderator's introduction 2) Meg Cassedy-Blum, 13 3) Ester Vaisman, 15 4) Rena Berkowitz, 16 5) Inna Barmash, 19 6) Aviva Starkman, 22 7) Ilya Vinarsky, 25 1)---------------------------------------------------- Date: Sun, 19 Jul 1998 07:51:20 -0700 (PDT) From: Iosif Vaisman Most of the Mendele special issues were dedicated to people and events of the past. It is important and we will continue to honor our history, but here we introduce a series of special issues that will provide a glimpse at the future. As it is the case with any other Mendele issue, our today authors are very different. They represent diverse cultural and geographical backgrounds. They live in different places and have different avocations. However, there are few things they share: interest in Yiddish, at very least sufficient to write the letters posted below, and age. Although, the title "Kindergartn" should not be taken literally (some of the authors are quite grown-up college students or young professionals), it reflects fairly the relation between their average age and the average age of all Mendele subscribers. All the "kindergartners" were born in the 1970s, 80s, and 90s, in what sometimes referred to as a "post-Yiddish era". Why they became interested in Yiddish? Could we learn something from their stories? The essays below do not provide ready to use recipes and answers, but they can inspire questions and discussions. Besides, they make fascinating reading. Part I consists of letters from the Kindergartn's older "members". Several younger writers, who are currently busy visiting their grandparents and attending summer camps promised their essays for the Part II. Kindergartn extends an invitation to the all interested parties of appropriate age to send us entries for the future issues. Careful reader will notice that Kindergartn is heavily dominated by young women. I am still calculating the statistical significance of our sample, but it is well known that such situation is not unique in the long history of Yiddish. For a scholarly analysis of this phenomenon see e.g., Naomi Seidman, A marriage made in heaven : the sexual politics of Hebrew and Yiddish / Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. An important note: Kindergartn does not discriminate on any basis, except age. All submissions are welcome, and eventually we may even reach a gender-balanced representation. I hope that Kindergartn will become a permanent feature in Mendele. I hope it will continue because I have a dream. A simple dream: that in May of 2110 the fresh issue of Mendele, Vol 120.001 will be delivered to many mailboxes, or whatever will serve then their function. And Mendele's Kindergartn might be a small but important step on the way for this dream to come true. Iosif Vaisman 2)---------------------------------------------------- Date: Mon, 13 Jul 1998 16:32:17 EDT From: Meg Cassedy-Blum Some years ago, my mother began studying Yiddish as a memorial to her own mother, my Grandma Sylvia. My mother began teaching me Yiddish over the course of a few summers, beginning when I was ten. We started with the workbook called "Arele," by Frieda Cielak. Then we went on to the primer called "Yidishe kinder," by Joseph Mlotek and Matis Olitsky. When it came time for me to have my bat mitzvah, my family and I decided that I was to have a Yiddish bat mitzvah, and with the help of Mendele, I got a Yiddish tutor, Miriam Isaacs. She teaches at the University of Maryland. I met with her every week, and learned Yiddish prayers, poems, songs, and stories that I then incorporated into my bat mitzvah, along with the traditional Torah service. I began my bat mitzvah with a Yiddish song of unity ("Lomir alemen bagrisn") and a yortsayt prayer. I then recited the song, "Di grezelekh blien," by Jacob Fichman, a happy little tune about life and spring. After the Torah service, I gave a speech describing my Yiddish study, in which I read a poem called "Undzer yidish," by Eliezer Schindler, and a sweet song called "In an orem shtibele." I also commented on Yiddish literature I had read in English: "A bintl briv," which is letters to the editor of the Forward, a Yiddish New York newspaper; a story by Avrom Reisin called "Equality of the Sexes;" and Peretz's "Bontshe Shvayg." I ended my bat mitzvah with a tkhine (a Yiddish woman's prayer) that begins with the words "Got fun avrom," which is a havdalah prayer (for the end of the Sabbath). I'm glad I can read, speak, and understand some Yiddish, because it connects me to my ancestors and to my religion. My great-grandparents and great-great- grandparents spoke Yiddish in the Old Country, and continued to speak it when they came to the New World. Today, some of my relatives still speak Yiddish. I take pride in the fact that I had a Yiddish bat mitzvah. It was really special, and helped me to realize how much Yiddish I know and how happy I am that I learned it. I plan to pass the knowledge of Yiddish on to my children, who, I hope, in turn will pass it on to their children. Meg Cassedy-Blum, Bethesda, MD 3)---------------------------------------------------- Date: Fri, 10 Jul 1998 21:46:53 -0400 From: Ester Vaisman Ikh heys Ester Vaisman. Ikh bin geboyren gevorn in Tshernovits, ober ikh gevoinen in Moskve biz ikh gezaynen zibn. Nokh dem, hob ikh aribergefurt in Chapel Hill, Tsofn Karolina vu ikh itst voyn. Ikh lernen zikh in elfter clas in der East Chapel Hill High School. Ikh bin fuftsn yurn alt. Yiddish is important to me because it is the language that my ancestors spoke and because it has always been a part of my life. I have heard Yiddish spoken by my family ever since I was little. I picked up some of the Yiddish words that were often used in casual conversations. Sometimes, Yiddish words can express what it is much more difficult to express in other languages. My parents and grandparents often sang me songs or melodies in Yiddish when it was time for me to go to bed. I still know most of these songs. One of my favorite ones was a lullaby sung to the melody of "Reyzele." I learned many poems and read many stories of Yiddish writers and poets, all of which were translated into Russian. I read stories and plays by Sholem Aleichem, including "Stories for Children" and "Tevye the Milkman." Some of my favorite poems when I was in pre-school were "Karshele" by Shike Driz and the poems about Lemele by Leyb Kvitko. These were a set of poems about a little boy who was often getting into trouble. Sometimes I did not even realize that these poems and stories were written in Yiddish, and that what I was learning were just translations. The translations were done so well, that it sounded like the translators wrote the poems themselves. Also, very many children in Russia knew and loved these poems, not just Jewish children. These stories, poems, and songs had an influence on my life and taught me many important things, such as how to make excuses when I get into trouble. I translated one of the Lemele poems into English for a school project in fifth grade. Here it is. Lemele (from Leyb Kvitko) Lemele, one time, came running home from school. "Oh!" exclaimed his mother, "You are such a fool! "Your forehead is scratched up and bruised on all sides! "One day you will make me ill, with all your fights!" And Lemele answered, examining his feet, "I just accidentally bit myself a bit." "What a skillful boy," said his mother, ill at ease, "How could you reach your forehead with your teeth?" "Well, I somehow managed," said Leml, acting cool. "I, for this occasion, climbed unto a stool." A couple of years ago, I made a small Yiddish-Hebrew-English-Russian-German Picture Dictionary for children on the Internet. It is being used by many people who often send me letters about the dictionary. I am working on other projects for the Internet as well. I have been to the Mame-Loshn festival twice, where I took different classes and went to dances and concerts. I enjoyed Mame-Loshn very much, and I met many interesting people there. I think that it is important to have festivals like Mame-Loshn to keep people interested in Yiddish. Last year I took two semesters of Yiddish classes with Sheva Zucker, and I sometimes attend the Yiddish club in Chapel Hill. I want Yiddish to stay alive, and it will always be important to me. Ester Vaisman 4)---------------------------------------------------- Date: Tue, 14 Jul 1998 19:56:36 -0400 From: "Rena Berkowitz" Ich bin a zechzehn yor alt maidel un ich bin oisgevachsen tzu redn Yiddish zayt ich bin geven a klaine kind. Ven ich hob angefangen tzu lernen in a shule, hob ich gelernt in Yiddish. Yiddish is azoi vi a zvaite shprach far mir, un ich reden un shraiben es ale mol. Ich vill oifshtelen az es kukt ois zeyer modne tzu zehn Yiddish ongeshriben in English "abc". Yiddish is gemaint tzu veren geshriben in alef-bais. Ich vill zogn as Yiddish far mir is nit nor a shtikel fun "Yiddishe kultur" ober es shpilt a groise rolle in main leben. Rena Berkowitz http://www.geocities.com/EnchantedForest/Dell/4430 5)---------------------------------------------------- Date: Sun, 28 Jun 1998 22:21:51 -0400 (EDT) From: Inna Barmash My name is Inna Barmash and I hail from Vilna. Currently, I live in Fair Lawn, New Jersey and will be attending my second year at Princeton University in NJ in the fall. So here's how I got here: Both of my parents were born in Chernowitz, the capital of Bukovina, a region in what is today Ukraine. Chernowitz... Today it is a sad Ukranian city with a thoroughly confused identity. In the last hundred years, it has changed rulers many times from Austrian Empire to Romania to Soviet Union to Ukraine. Yet, until recently, one thing was constant. Chernowitz whether it was called Czernowitz, Cernauti, Chernovtsy, Chernivtsi under different countries always remained a Jewish city. My parents grew up going to schools with a large proportion of Jewish kids. I don't know how many Jews there are in Chernowitz today, but considering that 99.9% of my parents' friends are now either in Brooklyn or Israel, I would assume that number is not very large. In early stages, the state and city officials initiated this exodus. The University in Chernowitz generally did not accept any Jews. My parents went to schools in other cities and after they got married moved to Vilna. For the first nine years of my life, I had a very vague notion of what being Jewish meant. Jewish was my nationality, as written on my parents' passport. I knew I wasn't Russian or Lithuanian. I knew that Einstein was also Jewish, which made me feel very proud. That's about it. As Gorbachev got the whole Perestroika thing going, many nationalities felt that they could finally be free to express their national identity (or in many cases, build it from scratch.) When I was in fourth grade, the first (in more than fifty years) Yiddish class was opened in Vilna. The class was held in the evening in a school in the center of the city. My parents were almost against me signing up for the class, or at least they didn't try to persuade me to do it because I would have to travel to the class by myself at night. I don't remember why or how, but I signed up for that class myself. I don't mean to sound corny, but to this day, I feel that somehow my Jewish soul spoke up and drew me to study something about my nationality. In that class, I learned the alef-beys, sang my first Yiddish song ("Oyfn Pripetchik"), and learned about Israel (I don't think I really knew it existed until then). That same year, a new children's Jewish ensemble was formed in Vilna. I remember dragging my dad to their rehearsal for the first time. I wasn't particularly musically inclined at the time. I played piano like every good Jewish girl should, but I wasn't very good at it and wasn't very good about practicing. Either way, again, without my parents' express agreement, I started singing in the ensemble. The two people that started the group mother and son Lyuba and Amos had an enthusiasm and love for the Jewish song unmatched by almost anyone I have met ever since. Lyuba spent hours drilling us in Yiddish pronunciation (people are still very surprised to learn that I don't speak Yiddish when they hear me sing in the language). Together, Lyuba and Amos taught as many Jewish songs as they could remember. The ensemble wasn't very good at that point from the musical point of view. However, we kids (there were about twenty of us in the group) had that fresh, enthusiastic sound of children rediscovering and relishing in their lost past. And so, after fifty years of silence, the voices of Jewish children could again be heard in Vilna, the traditional Jerusalem of Lithuania. As far as I know, that ensemble is still active in Vilna today under the name of Aliya. In 1989, we made a trip to Israel. By that time, we expanded our repertoire to include some simple dances and dramatizations. By the time I was leaving, in 1991, the group had a small orchestra, and a separate dance troupe and choir, performing on a pretty high level. Lyuba and Amos made aliya to Israel (as did most of the members of the ensemble; after I left, I heard that many non-Jews joined the group). In the last few years in Vilna, I attended classes in the newly established Jewish school. I studied Jewish history and Hebrew (Yiddish classes were still offered, but because many families, including mine, were about to make Aliyah, Hebrew was certainly more important to us at the time). We were filing our papers to go to Israel in the spring of 1991. In late May of that year, my father got a job offer from a company in the United States, so we decided to change our plans. After a couple of years, all of my immediate family had moved to US. So I was twelve when I moved here. Ironically, in the first few weeks of my classes in the new school here, my Hebrew was much more helpful to me than my scant knowledge of English, since there were many Israelis in my classes. What have I been up to since then? Of course, learning English was my major obstacle here, especially in the first two years. I did pretty well in school here and started Princeton last year, studying something of an undecided nature (oscillating between engineering, biology, and history). And I continued singing in Yiddish. First, I sang in a temple choir in Fair Lawn and in the Jewish Choral Society in Patterson, NJ. Through my acquiantances there, I got some "gigs" singing for local elderly Jewish communities, as well as other random performances here and there. I really enjoyed those performances, but did not pursue them very seriously, mostly because of my studies. I love singing in Yiddish. After several years of classical choir-singing in many languages -- Italian, Latin, French, Spanish, English, and German -- Yiddish is still the language I feel most comfortable with. When I sing Jewish songs, I truly feel my soul opening up, making me feel soaring free above everything. I am planning to start a Klezmer group in Princeton next year. Last year, there was an attempt to start the group by someone who graduated this year. There was certainly enough interest, but it just never got the right start. Maybe it will be more successfull this time. I know it will require a lot of time and commitment on my part. I also started learning Yiddish again in an informal weekly class at the University's Center for Jewish Life. I got to Mendele by accident, while browsing the web. I was writing a Jewish history term paper about the 1908 Chernowitz Conference and was looking for the materials. I found many interesting references in Shtetl and Mendele archives. Now I am subscribed to Mendele. I have been enjoying your postings for several months. I am eager to find out more about the other subscribers of the list. Maybe I'll meet some of you in person some day. Zayt mir gezunt! Inna Barmash 6)---------------------------------------------------- Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1998 12:06:00 -0700 (PDT) From: Aviva Starkman An old friend of the family never tires of retelling a story from when I was four years old: One day in pre-school, our teacher was talking about Hebrew names. She said that my name, Aviva, was the same in both Hebrew and English. To which I replied, "Oh no, my Hebrew name is _Avivale_". Well I had confused Hebrew with Yiddish, but this story illustrates the pervasiveness of Yiddish in our home. All my bubbes and zeydes are from Poland and my parents grew up speaking both English and Yiddish. And although my parents spoke to me and my brothers in English, their language was naturally peppered with Yiddish (hence my pet name Avivale). My interest in Yiddish began when I was seven years old. My parents used to speak in Yiddish when they didn't want us to know what they were talking about. That was plenty of motivation for me to learn the language! I went about learning Yiddish very informally: My father gave me a Yiddish primer from the 1950s called "Yiddishe Kinder", written by Yosl Mlotek. I made my way through some of that, then discovered Weinrech's "College Yiddish" in Yeshiva High School's library as a teenager. Last year I found a copy of the second volume of "Yiddishe Kinder", this one by Yudel Mark and S. Efron, at a University of Judaism sale for $1. At home my father would often play an old recording of "The Kosher Widow", a show which appeared in New York's Yiddish theater in the 1950s. (Music by Sholom Secunda and featuring Molly Picon and a young Bruce Adler.) He would translate the lyrics for me as they were being sung. Several years ago we bought a video of "Yidl Mitn Fidl" which I watch over and over. And since 1992 I've been privileged to be a part of the wonderful Mendele kehila. So after 15 years of effort I am proud to report that I have an intermediate- level knowledge of Yiddish, all self-taught. My parents envy my reading ability. When I visit home now I bring along "Yiddishe Kinder" vol. 2 and read stories aloud to my parents. They help me translate. :) Of course I must mention that after a while my interest in Yiddish moved beyond the simple desire to understand my parents' secret conversations. I realized that Yiddish is a link to my extended family who Hitler murdered, and even to all the previous centuries of Jewish history. I strenuously object to those who attempt to separate Yiddish from Yiddishkayt. Like a flower hidden from the sunlight, Yiddish without the lifegiving source of torah and the Jewish way of life will shrivel and die. By perpertuating Yiddish and Yiddishkayt, we declare to the soynei yisroel and the world: Mir zenen du! Aviva(le) Starkman 7)---------------------------------------------------- Date: Sat, 20 Jun 1998 18:25:34 -0400 (EDT) From: Ilya Vinarsky My name is Ilya Vinarsky. I am a 25-year-old computer programmer, a native of Kharkov. I do not speak Yiddish, nor do my parents, nor does my maternal grandmother, who was born in 1911 into an assimilated family near the Sea of Azov. My other three grandparents, who were born into more traditional families in Central Ukraine, spoke Yiddish; unfortunately, they are all dead now. I first heard Yiddish spoken when I was 16, in the United States. I used to work with a guy who translated the Vladimir Vyssotsky song "Eto Byl Voskresnyy Den'" into it, and insisted on reading this translation to me, even though I couldn't understand it. I read two novels by Mendele the Book Peddler, _Fishke the Lame_ and _Travels of Benjamin the Third_. Although these novels can shock a contemporary American Jewish reader into abandoning the fiddler-on-the-roof sentimentality about his Old Country ancestors, I must say that overall Mendele is a weak writer, worse even than his social realist contemporaries Shevchenko and Nekrasov. My favorite Jewish writer, in fact one of the favorite writers of all, is Isaac Babel, a modernist and a Communist, torn between the Jewish tradition, the internationalism of the Revolution and the cosmopolitanism of European culture. His attemps to reconcile the irreconcilable while remaining an honest writer and citizen cost him his life. Recently I married a Russian woman with a small child, and put up quite an effort to ensure the child learns Russian, reading Maurice Sendak's _Hector Protector_ out in Russian, and so on. I wish somebody had done this with me (in fact, with my parents) in Yiddish. It isn't too late, so I signed up with Mendele. Even though Yiddish will no longer be the lingua franca of Ashkenazi Jews, I would like to know it. In one of his novels, Kyrgyz writer Ghengiz Aitmatov brings up the legend of the manqurt, a slave of Central Asian nomads who was tortured so cruelly, the unbearable pain would cause him to lose all his memory and thus become a perfect slave. Aitmatov uses the manqurt as a metaphor of the deracinated Kyrgyz, who would rather be a second-class Russian than stay in touch with his native roots. Other minorities in the old Imperium, such as the Ukrainians, picked up the word. The irony is, had the Russians never conquered Turkestan, and the Soviets made it Communist, Ghengiz Aitmatov would never be writing secular novels in general, in Russian in particular. So those Ukrainian nationalists owed to the empire the language they used for lamenting assimilation into the dominant culture in the empire. This kind of irony abounds when you're talking about cultural identity. Ilya Vinarsky ______________________________________________________ End of Mendele Vol. 08.029 Address for the postings to Mendele: mendele@lists.yale.edu Address for the list commands: listproc@lists.yale.edu Mendele on the Web: http://www2.trincoll.edu/~mendele http://sunsite.unc.edu/yiddish/mendele.html